Moments
by vcg73
Summary: Decided I'd like to try one of those little 5/1 stories. So this is 5 times Kurt Hummel caused an awkward moment, and 1 time he created a magical one. Last chapter AU, as I wrote it pre-"Furt"
1. Chapter 1

Burt jumped, nearly flinging his paper cup of coffee all over the play-land carpet when the shrill shriek of an unhappy child pierced his ears. He searched the crowd of a dozen small children and frowned as he quickly identified Kurt. The three-year-old was sitting on the carpeting, howling his head off and pointing accusingly at an older boy, who stood with fists on his hips, glaring.

"What happened?" Burt asked, helping him up and checking his son over for injuries, trying to keep his tone even and not go off on the other kid, who couldn't have been more than five himself. "You okay, buddy? You hurt yourself?"

Kurt pointed at the other boy again and wailed, "He hit me!"

"Why would he do a thing like that?" he asked, raising his eyebrow at the boy's mother, who had also come over to investigate.

"I showed 'm my pretty heels and bucks!"

Kurt's voice was getting louder as his outrage escalated, drawing the attention of every other parent in the play area, and Burt sighed. He had known those "sensible" heels were a mistake. Who ever heard of shiny, polished Mary Jane shoes on a little boy? But Kurt had been so happy with them that Kate had convinced him it would do no harm. After all, he was only three! "Buckles," he corrected automatically.

"He's stupid! He thinks he's a _girl_!" the other boy sneered. "Those are stupid, girly shoes!"

"Are **not**!" Kurt blurted, his elfin face darkening like a thunder-cloud as he abruptly hauled off and kicked the other boy as hard as he could, right in the shin, instantly causing the little brat to start screaming and hopping around on one leg.

Embarrassed though he was, Burt had to fight the urge to laugh as he apologized to the boy's mother. His son might be a little, well, _feminine_ sometimes but the little squirt sure had one hell of a kick!

"Kurt, we don't do things like that. We don't strike other little boys and girls," he scolded. "Even when they start it by hitting and saying mean things to us."

He could not resist adding that last part and the yowling boy's mother had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

Burt nodded, not quite ready to say that it was no big deal. He had a bad feeling that, if his instincts about his son were correct, this was only the first in a long line of confrontations Kurt would be facing. "I think it's about time for us to go home," he said, picking Kurt up and settling him against his shoulder.

The little boy nodded, looking regretfully down at the building block castle he had been constructing, but knowing his father's tone well enough not to try arguing the decision. "Sleepin' Beauty don't have a bedroom," he mumbled sadly.

Giving him a reassuring hug, Burt walked away from the shopping mall's public play area and strode in the direction of a toy store at the opposite end. "What do you say we go buy ourselves a few packs of Legos and head on home to Mommy? We can all build a new castle together, complete with a really swanky bedroom for the princess."

Though it was highly doubtful that Kurt had any idea what 'swanky' meant, he perked right up at the mention of Legos, forgetting all about the bully. "Can we get lotsa different colors, Daddy? Blue and red and yellow and, and, and . . . "

Burt grinned as the boy ran out of colors and scrunched his little face up in concentration. "And white, and orange and green!"

"And pink!"

A small twinge of something he chose not to identify twisted Burt's gut at that cheerful suggestion. "Sure, son. What's a princess castle without a little pink?"


	2. Chapter 2

He hated baseball.

Kurt scowled down at his cleats, using the tip of his metal baseball bat to tap dirt out of the grooves. He hated his Little League uniform with a passion, ugly brown and yellow jerseys that showed no taste or style whatsoever, caps that mashed his hair down into weird unnatural shapes, plain ugly tube socks with stripes at the top, cleats that tracked dirt wherever he went and made an undignified clomping noise on hard floors, and worst of all, _stirrup_ pants. White, so they showed every speck of dirt, naturally.

More than the uniform, he hated the game itself. Long, endless innings full of nothing special, interrupted by occasional bouts of shrieking and cheering when one of his teammates, or one of the opposing players, actually made contact with the ball. That didn't happen very often. It _never_ happened to him. He couldn't help it if he squeezed his eyes shut every time he saw the ball hurtling towards him! It was scary. When he had to play a field position, they always stuck him in right field, way too far away for any nine and ten-year-olds to actually hit the ball to him.

Sometimes the coach made him pinch-run for somebody and that was kind of okay, except that the other guys always claimed he ran like a girl. He didn't mind being compared to a girl, usually, but in this case it was embarrassing. Especially when four of the kids on his team _were_ girls and they could all outrun him.

He only played because Dad had been so enthusiastic about the idea. Kurt's mom had died last year and his dad had not really been happy about anything since then. He was always sad and quiet and most of the things Kurt liked to do, his dad didn't really find interesting. So, when Dad had suggested that he try out for the new Little League that his school district was forming, Kurt had seen the excitement shining in his eyes and agreed to give it a try. He still wasn't quite sure how he had actually made it onto a team, but he suspected that the fact that Hummel Tires and Lube was a league sponsor might have had something to do with it.

Someone nudged him in the ribs and Kurt looked up, realizing that the game was about to start. He stood up and took his cap off, ready to listen to the National Anthem as usual. To his surprise, the coach walked up to the P.A. microphone and gravely announced that Mike Holderfield, the assistant coach who usually butchered . . . that is, _sang_ the anthem, was sick today so the ritual would be skipped.

More than one spectator shifted uneasily at that. It was not only bad luck; it was practically sacrilegious to skip the National Anthem before a baseball game!

Before he even realized what he intended to do, Kurt shouted, "I'll sing it!" and found himself jogging out towards the coach.

He caught a glimpse of his father up on the wooden benches, mouth gaping with shock. Before anyone could stop him, Kurt grabbed the microphone from Coach Ripley's hand and pushed the button, causing a loud squeal of feedback that made everyone in the surrounding area cringe and cover their ears.

The other players laughed. "Nice high note, loser!" one of the kids yelled.

Embarrassed and wondering what had possessed him, after all he _never_ sang in public, Kurt licked his lips and took a deep breath. Holderfield usually brought background music with him, a tinny old recording on a boom-box, so this was going to have to be a'capella.

Removing his cap once again, Kurt placed it over his heart, cuing everyone else to automatically do the same. Squeezing his eyes shut like a fastball was coming straight for his head, he began to sing. "_O-oh say can you see, by the dawn's early light…" _He did not dare to open his eyes until the very last note had been carried away on the breeze. There was no sound! Had he been _that _horrible? Opening one eye, Kurt looked out at the stunned spectators and timidly added, "Play ball?"

Suddenly, the crowd burst into life with enthusiastic claps and whistles, led by Kurt's father who bellowed, "That's my boy!"

Relieved beyond measure, Kurt sketched a little bow and ran back to join his teammates. He smiled proudly, hoping for a few words of praise. Instead, they just stared at him. A few offered tentative smiles but others, the same few who always bullied him no matter what he did, just gave him weirdly contemptuous scowls.

"You sound like a girl," one boy told him snidely. "You run like a girl, you play ball like a girl, and you sing like a girl. Geez, Hummel, you're such a freak!"

Kurt shrank back, trying to make himself as small as possible and watched his fellow players run to take their places on the field. Tears welled in his eyes and he stood. Hoping his father wouldn't hate him for it, he put his cap and his bat on the bench and walked away towards the parking lot.

He was done with sports. Forever!

"Kurt? Kurt, wait up!"

He turned at the sound of his father's voice. Swiping at his eyes and nose with the back of one hand, Kurt snuffled back his tears, not wanting his dad to see them.

"Hey, where you going, buddy? The game is just beginning." Burt crouched down in the grass, studying his son's reddened face. Using his thumb, he brushed away a missed tear from the boy's cheek. "Why are you crying? You were great back there!"

The praise had the opposite effect from what Burt had intended. Kurt flung both arms around his neck and blurted out, "I don't want to play baseball anymore! I hate these stupid stirrup pants, and the way we suck worse than anybody else in the league, and the way everybody says I do everything wrong even when I _don't_! When I sang the anthem and everybody cheered, I thought I'd found a way to fit in, but they just called me names instead and I **_hate _**this game!" The rant dissolved into a torrent of tears and he sobbed, "I wish Mom was here."

Burt hugged him tighter. "Me, too. She would have known better than to push you into something like this, wouldn't she?" He sighed and released his son, brushing Kurt's hair out of his eyes before pulling a bandana out of his back pocket. Brushing it over the boy's face, he squeezed it around his nose and ordered, "Blow."

The little boy complied, struggling to regain his composure. "I don't want to disappoint you, Daddy," Kurt hiccupped. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he added, "And Hummels aren't quitters. I'll go back and play again, if you want me to."

"Nah, I don't think that I do." Kurt looked at him in shock and Burt smiled. "I know I always tell you that the Hummels aren't quitters, Kurt, but we're not dumb either. Your team's only got two more games to go and there are still fourteen kids left. There's not much point in playing a game if you're not having fun at it. And you haven't had any fun this season at all, have you?"

Biting his lip and studying the ground in shame, Kurt shook his head. He hated being a disappointment and he hated hearing the disgust in his father's voice. All Dad had wanted was a normal kid who wanted to do normal things. What kind of boy hated playing _baseball_, after all? Maybe he really was a freak.

"It's okay, son. Thanks for giving this thing a try anyhow." Burt squeezed his shoulder and stood, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and handing them to Kurt. "Why don't you go wait in the truck for a minute while I tell your coach you won't be coming back?"

Kurt obeyed the order, fretfully playing with the keys as he watched his father and Coach Ripley talk. Dad took his cap off and rubbed his scalp in that way he had that meant he was unhappy about something. Then, the two men shook hands and Burt clapped him on the shoulder as he turned and jogged back toward the truck.

As Burt climbed into the driver's seat and accepted his keys from Kurt, he smiled. "Well, then. Looks like we got the afternoon free, so what do you say to a couple of ice cream cones and then we go catch a movie?"

Kurt looked up in surprise, sighing in relief as he saw the affection shining in his father's eyes and realized that he really wasn't mad about the baseball team. "Really?" Burt nodded and excitement began to build inside of him. They hadn't gone to a movie together in forever! "Can we see 'Scooby Doo'?"

Burt chuckled. "Sure, why not? You'll have to hold my hand if it gets too scary, though."

"Dad, I'm not a baby! I'm not going to get scared."

"Who said anything about you? I was talking about me!"

He started the engine and they drove away, the high and low music of mingled laughter filling the truck as they left baseball fields and misunderstandings behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt is being an angsty teen and a bit of a brat in this piece, which is a little awkward all by itself. :)

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"Come on, kid, we've been here for almost ten minutes. You're holding up the rest of the line. Just smile, already! I'm running way behind schedule here."

Kurt stood and checked his hair in the small vanity mirror on the wall, making sure that it was picture-perfect and that his bangs swooped down exactly enough to cover the acne breakout marring the skin of his forehead and right temple. At the photographer's comment he shook his head stubbornly, keeping his mouth firmly closed as he retook his place on the stool.

"All parents want a smiling picture of their kid," the photographer coaxed, "and when they don't get one they always think it's the photographer's fault and they call the studio and raise a big fuss and I get yelled at. You don't me to get fired, do you?"

He laughed awkwardly and Kurt rolled his eyes, not fooled by that nonsense at all. Like anyone would get that upset if _one_ kid didn't smile for his annual school photo.

"Fine," the man sighed. "So you're not a grinner. Just quit glowering and give me a little tilt of the lips or something. What are you, a tough guy? You want your seventh-grade photo to look like a mug-shot so all the girls will think you're a bad-ass?"

The very idea of that, of _him_ trying to impress girls by acting tough, startled a laugh out of Kurt and the swift and sneaky photographer clicked the button, capturing the moment on film.

Kurt scowled. "Hey! That's not fair!"

A twinkle lit the man's merry brown eyes. "Trust me; you'll thank me for it later." Removing the exposed film and placing it safely in an envelope already marked with Kurt's name, grade and classroom number for later development and delivery, he shouted, "Next!"

Unhappy but knowing there was nothing he could do, Kurt shot the funny-man photographer an even darker look and hopped off the stool, feet dragging as he made his way back to class. He had not voluntarily opened his mouth in three days and now _everybody_ was going to see how ugly he was. Dad would buy the big 8x11 print, just like always, and put it in the appropriate space on the K-12 wall frame that adorned the Hummel staircase.

Everybody would look at that picture and see how Kurt had been maimed by the cruel hand of Fate, which had seen fit to make his permanent teeth grow in so much more crooked than his baby teeth had been.

Stupid braces.

By the end of the following week, his worst fears had been realized. The finished set of school photographs was delivered by mail to Burt Hummel's garage and by dinner time, that hideous picture of his stupid, zit-covered, metal-mouthed face was hanging in the hall.

"You know you're going to have those things in your mouth for at least another year," Burt pointed out at dinner that night, watching his son glare toward the staircase. "Maybe two. You can't just give up smiling until then. And what about singing? How are you supposed to perform with the other kids in the school choir if you won't open your mouth?"

"I'll drop out," he threatened, picking at his dinner. "I'll grow my hair long enough to cover my whole face and dye it black and become one of those Goth kids, like that girl with the stutter. Nobody expects _them _to sing or smile."

Heartlessly, Burt chuckled. "You? Giving up music? Dressing all in black, with chains and leather or what-have-you? For two years? I don't think so."

The scowl got even darker. Nobody ever took him seriously.

"Kurt," Burt sighed, setting down his fork. "You have been pouting for two weeks straight and I'm getting just a little bit sick of it. I paid good money for those braces and there's nothing you can do except live with them. Or would you rather spend the rest of your life with a mouthful of crooked teeth?"

"No," he mumbled sullenly.

Burt eyed him for a few seconds, his tone suddenly sympathetic as he asked, "Are you the only kid in your class who has them?"

Kurt shook his head. He could think of three others, just off the top of his head.

"Are other kids teasing you over wearing them?" Burt tried again; a note of animosity in his voice that Kurt understood was not directed towards him.

He shrugged. "Some. There's this weird guy with a Mohawk who keeps calling me Jaws."

"Not sure if that's a shark reference or a James Bond reference, but either way it's not so bad. Makes you sound like kind of a tough guy," Burt observed. "I wouldn't worry about it."

Placated by the thought, he opened his lips, running a fingertip over his teeth, and continued, "One of the girls actually likes them. She told me today that they make me look cute, but I'm not sure if I should believe her. She doesn't have very good taste and she's kind of strange."

"How so?" his father asked, smiling as Kurt became distracted by the conversation and forgot his personal tragedy in favor of starting in on his dinner.

"She has this whole R&B diva fixation, like, really bad. Aretha Franklin, Gladys Knight, Destiny's Child, all of those people. She doesn't know any musical theater songs _at all, _except for stuff from _'Dreamgirls' _and she's a _horrible _dresser. Nothing but loud, bright colors and clashing prints that make me want to throw a tarp over her to protect my eyes from the glare."

Burt smothered a smile. "Yeah, and you wouldn't know anything about divas and bright clothes, would you?"

"That's not the same thing at all, Dad," he said witheringly. "_I _have style. Besides, she isn't nearly as bad as Rachel Berry. _She _came in for her school picture with her hair in ringlets and wearing this ugly, bright red sailor-dress and patent leather shoes with white socks! It looked like she was trying out for the lead in _'Annie' _or something."

Kurt actually shivered at the memory, making his father chuckle. Horror stories about this girl Rachel had become a regular part of their Friday night dinners ever since she had transferred into Kurt's class at the beginning of the school year.

"And what about the other girl, the Aretha kid who likes your grill-work? You haven't mentioned her before. She a friend of yours?"

"Mercedes? I don't know. I _guess _we're kind of friends. She's actually pretty funny, even though she has no sense of fashion, and she _does _have a really good voice."

Burt smirked at Kurt's willingness to overlook fashion faux pas for the sake of musical ability. "Sounds like a match made in heaven. Maybe you should ask this girl to that fall dance that's coming up in a couple of weeks."

Kurt rolled his eyes in that overly-dramatic fashion that was achievable only by newly-minted teenagers. "Right. As if I would even be caught dead at something as lame as the _Harvest Ball_. I don't even _like _to dance!" he scoffed. His voice dropped to a mumble as he added, "We would look dumb together anyway. She's taller than me. _All_ the girls are taller than me."

That wasn't entirely true. He was taller than Rachel and about eye-level with Mercedes, but admitting to his discomfort over being short, which was actually true, was way better than trying to explain to his dad that the only people he dreamed about sharing a dance with were other boys. He could just imagine how fast his already pathetic social standing would nose-dive if anyone ever found _that _out. Not to mention that Dad would probably disown him or something.

Rising from his seat as he cleaned the last scrap of food off his plate, Burt Hummel patted his son encouragingly on one slumped shoulder. "Don't worry about it, kid. One of these days, when you're a little bit older, you'll catch up to those girls and then pretty soon everything is going to change in ways you can't even imagine."

Kurt tried to smile, the corners of his mouth just barely turning up, but he suspected from the sympathetic squeeze that landed on his shoulder that it was not very convincing. He _would _eventually grow a little more, and the braces would come off - hopefully leaving him with the even, dazzling smile of his dreams - and with a little bit of luck and the right combination of skin-care products his complexion would some day improve to the point that he no longer looked like a "Before" ad for Clearasil, but there were some things about him that would _never_ change. No matter how much he or his dad might wish them to.

"Yeah, Dad. I'm sure you're right. Some day everything will be just . . . perfect."


	4. Chapter 4

"Okay, now look over your shoulder and put 'er in Reverse. No! Brake, brake, brake!"

The truck came to a stop just inches away from the garbage can sitting at the edge of the driveway, halting so abruptly that both driver and passenger jerked forward in their seats, only to be snapped back by their seatbelts.

"Oops," Kurt said in a small sheepish tone, hurriedly shifting the vehicle back into Park. "I think I turned the wheel when I turned my head. Sorry, Dad."

Burt sighed. His son had passed his drivers-permit test with flying colors but translating all that text into actual physical experience was proving to be something of a challenge. Kurt kept getting ahead of himself, going too fast and trying to do everything all at once.

Trying to remain calm and supportive, he bit back the sarcastic comment that had sprung to his lips and merely said, "That's okay, son. Everyone makes a few mistakes when they're learning something new. Remember when I taught you to ride a bike? You kept jerking the handlebars and throwing yourself off balance but you eventually figured it out. Same with roller-skating. You spent that whole summer with scabbed up hands and knees and a black and blue ass until you finally got the hang of it. You'll get this, too."

Kurt took a shaky breath. "I hope so, but I wasn't in danger of running anyone over with a bike or skates."

"Tell that to my toes." To Burt's relief, his son huffed a small laugh at the light joke. "Come on, now. You won't get any better if you don't practice. Let's just try it again and this time, keep the wheel straight and tap the brakes lightly until you've got the car all the way to the end of the driveway. Don't start turning until you clear the edge of the sidewalk and just take it nice and slow. This isn't a race. You want to make sure to use your mirrors and get a good look in every direction before you pull out into traffic. Make sure you check to see if there are any people or other cars coming your way."

"People?"

He clarified. "On the sidewalk. You're a little bit blind on the left here because of the fence. Suppose some lady with a baby stroller or a guy with a dog happens to be walking by. You don't want to run 'em over."

The boy's blue eyes widened with alarm at that thought. He had been watching vigilantly for other cars but clearly had not given much thought to possible sidewalk traffic.

Kurt had wanted very much to take the Driver's Education course at the local high school, where he would be starting in the fall, but there was a rule stating that you had to have passed your permit test before you could begin Driver's Ed, and Kurt's 15th birthday had not come around until mid-summer, when that class was already over and done with. There was another one scheduled to start right after school began in September and Burt was already planning to make sure that Kurt was enrolled.

In the mean time, a little elementary education seemed like a good idea. Get those nerves calmed down and Kurt's brain focused on all the intricacies of driving in the real world. He would require a certain number of practice hours with a licensed driver before he could qualify for his own licence anyway, and Burt would not have missed out on this particular father and son bonding ritual for all the world.

Though, he remembered it being a lot less stressful when he was in Kurt's place and his old man had been doing the teaching . . .

"Let's get this show on the road," he ordered jovially.

Kurt drove carefully back up the driveway to his original starting position. "I can do this," he muttered quietly to himself. Tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, he applied the brake, looked behind him and carefully backed the truck down the driveway, nice and straight this time, watching carefully for pedestrians and vehicles and obeying his father's quiet instructions about when to turn the wheel for a smooth venture into the street.

"Good job. Now, hold the brake down while you switch over into Drive. We're just gonna take a nice leisurely trip around the neighborhood. Let you get the feel of being behind the wheel for awhile before we start worrying about driving in normal traffic. Just don't forget to watch out for stop signs."

Kurt nodded tensely, knuckles white as he gripped the wheel at ten and two and gingerly gave the truck a little gas.

"You're doing great," Burt praised him when they had driven several blocks without incident. "Let's turn right at this next corner."

"Okay," he agreed, fingers spasming as he released his death-grip on the steering wheel to adjust the position of his hands, overcompensating a little and nearly continuing his turn right into the edge of the sidewalk.

The boy gasped as he quickly corrected the motion, shooting his father an embarrassed glance.

Burt gulped, thanking his lucky stars that there had been no one parked along the curb. It was early on a Sunday morning and he had been counting on the lack of street traffic when he suggested last night that Kurt set his alarm for six o'clock. Most people were either sleeping or attending sunrise church services at this time of day, so there were no other cars to worry about. "It's okay, Kurt, you got it. No harm done. Just try it again when you get to the end of the block. Nice and easy this time."

Kurt managed to maneuver around the corner much more easily the second time and both Hummels breathed a sigh of relief. Burt knew full well that Kurt tended to get a little scared and tense when trying new things, especially if whatever he was doing would affect other people. If he could just get him feeling comfortable behind the wheel, he would be fine.

"Want to try parking?" Burt asked when they had successfully managed two six-block round trips and were beginning their third lap. Kurt was beginning to relax, even starting to enjoy it a little, and he nodded, daring a quick glance sideways before fixing his gaze intently back on the road. "Okay, let's head up to the end of this street and turn left."

The boy tensed again. Left turns were something new, but Burt had chosen his route carefully. This block had a protected turn lane with a signal light. "Wait for the green, take a quick look around to make sure there aren't any jackasses trying to race the red light from either side, and accelerate nice and smooth. Now, notice that there's two lanes going in the direction we want, so don't put too much swing on your turn. Just aim for the lines on the left side, exactly like the picture in your driver's manual."

"I got it," Kurt assured him, doing his best to sound confident. Burt wasn't fooled, but he was proud of him for the effort. The light went green, Kurt glanced left and right, then nearly jumped out of his skin when the impatient driver behind them honked his horn, angry that they hadn't just darted out the second the light turned. Kurt stomped on the gas and whipped the turn, ending up in the right side of the new double southbound lane instead of the left. The other driver zoomed past them without a care in the world. The boy sighed unhappily, defeat filling his voice as he apologized yet again, "I'm really sorry, Dad. I'm _horrible _at this!"

"No, you're not. You're new at it, and what happened just now wasn't your fault. I should have warned you when I saw that jerk pull up behind us. Some people are always in a big damn hurry to get nowhere, and they're not your problem. You take your time and stay safe. Let the other assholes get the speeding tickets."

The boy nodded, smiling a bit. "Okay. So, should I get back over to the left?"

"I think we'll stay here for awhile. Pull into the parking lot at the end of the next block. The bank is closed today, so you can practice moving in and out of parking spaces over there for as long as you want to."

Kurt seemed happy with that idea, though Burt suspected it was because he was eager to remove himself from the perils of live traffic for a few minutes.

They spent the next thirty minutes doing laps around the bank building and pulling into assorted spaces all over the lot. After a while, Burt smiled, realizing that Kurt was becoming increasingly confident in figuring out how to back in and out, navigate right and left, and correctly judge the location of lane lines once he could no longer see them clearly.

"See? I told you you'd get it!" Burt praised. "It's easier to tell how much room you've got to park when there's other cars around but this is good enough for now. And, seeing as you've managed to get the truck into a nice safe spot and it's almost eight o'clock, what do you say we take a break and head across the street to Molly's Diner for some breakfast?"

He had chosen this practice location deliberately. Kurt loved the little family restaurant where the Hummel family had been dining on special occassions since he was a toddler, and the owners both loved him. They would be delighted with his accomplishment and Burt knew it would do the kid's confidence a world of good to have somebody outside the family to whom he could show off his brand new driving permit; certified proof that he wasn't a kid anymore.

They shut off the engine and got out of the truck, Kurt carefully making sure that he had locked the doors and rolled up all the windows. Then the boy did something that he had rarely done since growing past the age where he felt comfortable with public displays of affection, and reached out to squeeze his father's hand. "Thanks for doing this with me, Dad. It really means a lot."

Burt squeezed back firmly, recognizing a silent request for reassurance in the gesture and hoping that Kurt's fancy, fingerless leather gloves would keep him from noticing how clammy his father's hand had become. He did not want his boy to realize just how nerve-wracking this experience had been for him.

"It means a lot to me, too, kid." Flashing the boy a sincere smile, he reached over and plucked the jaunty woolen driving cap off of Kurt's head and ruffled his hair. "Anything to help you out."

There was a moment of silence, then, "You know, once I get my licence next summer, it would help me out a _lot _if I had my own car."

A loud groan of parental exasperation broke over the quiet Sunday morning, accompanied by delighted boyish laughter.


	5. Chapter 5

It just occurred to me that Burt HAD to have had some reaction when this happend on the show.

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"Dad?"

Burt pulled his head out from under the hood of the car he was working on and looked up with a smile. The expression faltered; his brow furrowing as he got a good look at his son. He was completely used to seeing Kurt decked out in unusual clothing (Heck, some of it was downright weird!) but today he was wearing sneakers, bright-red warm up pants and a short sleeved red and white shirt with WMHS emblazoned across the chest in large block letters.

"You lose a bet?" he asked, that being the only reason he could come up with for Kurt to be voluntarily wearing a polyester uniform of any kind.

Kurt shifted in place, clutching the binder he was carrying a little bit tighter. "No."

"Then what's with the outfit? This one of those glee-club things?"

The boy dropped his gaze to the floor, his cheeks going nearly the same shade as his uniform. "It's . . . it's a Cheerios thing, actually. Coach Sylvester invited me and Mercedes to join the team." He pulled a sheet of paper from his notebook and held it out to Burt. It was wrinkled, as though it had been folded and unfolded dozens of times by nervous hands. "I need you to sign the permission slip and liability waiver."

Burt's brain had stuttered to a halt at the word 'Cheerios'. "You're telling me you want to become a cheerleader?" he asked faintly.

He had seen the squad performing at football games when Kurt had briefly been the Titans kicker, and at a couple of parent-attended pep rallies for school events, and he knew that they were good. Way better than they had been back during his own days at McKinley. But cheerleaders were supposed to be girls! Cute, short-skirted socialites that all the jocks wanted to date. They were what his only son should _want_, not what he should want to _be_!

Burt had been coming to terms with Kurt's sexuality for months, ever since he had finally confirmed as fact what Burt had strongly suspected since the kid was barely out of diapers, and he thought that he was doing pretty good most of the time. But this!

"The Cheerios are the most popular kids in school," Kurt told him, a note of pleading in his voice. "Coach Sylvester is kind of insane but her squad has won Nationals six years running, and nobody messes with them. I talked to some of the other guys on the squad and not one of them has ever been slushied or dumpster-tossed. This uniform brings automatic respect and I really want to try it. Mercedes and I sang with the Cheerios at an assembly today in front of the whole school, as part of the Madonna-Week tribute we've been having. It was _so_ much fun. I couldn't believe how incredible it felt to hear everyone cheering for us that way!"

Burt watched his boy's eyes shine at the memory and his gut clenched. He had often suspected that he did not hear about half the crap Kurt took for being the way he was, and this seemed to confirm it. A little applause, a little respect from his peers, and the kid was on Cloud 9.

"Other guys?" he repeated, feeling a little stirring of hope. "So, the Cheerios aren't just girls these days."

Kurt blinked, coming back from the lovely memory he had been reliving. "Oh, uh, no. There's about a dozen boys, I think. We didn't perform with them today but they're always involved in the field routines, picking up the girls and tossing them overhead for their flips and things. Plus, some of the squad is working on a really amazing co-ed routine involving stilts! I saw them practicing when I went in to pick up my new uniform."

His fingertips grazed lovingly over the letters on his chest, an unconsciously proud smile tilting his lips.

Burt nodded. He wasn't entirely happy with this; the gender-conscious, misogynistic jock mentality of his youth rising up and gibbering in horror at the very idea, but as he always did when his baser instincts started screaming, Burt firmly clamped a hand over the mouth of that bigoted little inner-voice and crushed it back, hoping one day he could exorcise it completely.

Managing to offer his hopeful-looking son a smile, he accepted the permission slip and read it over. His brow furrowed when he saw the long list of potential harm that the liability clause covered, requesting his agreement that McKinley High School would not be held responsible for any physical, mental or emotional damages incurred during the practice and execution of Cheerios routines. "Are you sure you want to do this, kid? It sounds like it might be less dangerous to join the circus and let 'em shoot you out of cannons into the lion cage!"

The teenager just smirked. "Coach Sylvester is a perfectionist, but you have to take the risks if you want to play the game, right?"

"No fair using my own words against me," Burt scolded, chuckling a little. "Sylvester . . . isn't she that nut-job who does that news spot where she rants about crazy stuff every week?"

Kurt grinned. "Sue's Corner," he confirmed. "Yeah, that's her. She's the same one who has such a massive grudge against Mr. Schuester, too. She comes up with a new scheme at least once every week to destroy glee-club."

"But you like her anyway?"

He shrugged. "I do. I don't even know why. Maybe it's because for all her weirdness and insanity, she really seems to care what happens to her kids. I've worked with her a couple of times on other things and it was kind of fun both times."

Burt leaned against the side of the car, studying his son's face intently. "This really means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

Kurt came a few steps closer, resting against the vehicle next to his dad. His young face turned very serious as he looked Burt in the eye and said quietly, "She asked me. There are kids at school who'd sell their vital organs for a chance like this, but Sue Sylvester wanted _me_. Nothing is more important to her than the winning reputation and performance of her Cheerios, Dad; but when she decided to add vocals to her Nationals routine, out of all the singers she could have chosen to represent her, she picked Mercedes and me. Not one of the star singers from glee-club, or any of the perfect, popular kids already on her squad. _Us_. Mercedes and I want to prove to Sue and Shue and everybody else that we're worthy of that. I want to prove it to myself."

Swinging an arm around his narrow shoulders, Burt gave his son a firm squeeze. "You _are _worth it, Kurt, and if this is what you really want then I'm not gonna stop you." Fishing a pen out of his coverall pocket, he rested the permission slip against the top of the car and signed his name at the bottom. "Does this mean you guys are quitting Glee, if you're joining the Cheerios?"

"No," he said, reclaiming the form and tucking it safely back into his binder. "We're going to do both, same as Santana and Brittany."

"Gonna musically rule the entire school, eh?"

Playfully, he sang, "_We will, We will, Rock you_!"

Laughter lightened Burt's worry as he saw the mischief dancing in his son's bright blue eyes. "All right, then. But before you begin your world conquest, I suggest you go do your homework. I see those grades slipping and you'll be off both teams faster than you can blink."

He laughed and grabbed Burt in a quick hug. "And people say Coach Sylvester is a tyrant! See you later, Dad." He walked away, then spun mid-stride, pointing a finger at Burt. "Dinner will be on the table at 7 o'clock, sharp. Don't be late!"

Burt sketched a sharp salute. "Yes, sir!"

Kurt just grinned and continued on his way.

As he watched the boy walk away with his bouncy, self-confident stride even more pronounced than usual – hell, the kid was so pleased with himself that he was practically skipping – Burt shook his head fondly.

"My son, the singing, football-playing, cheerleader," he mumbled, snorting as he returned to his waiting car engine. At least college recruiters would never be able to say that his kid lacked extra-curricular variety!


	6. Chapter 6

And at last we have the magical moment! Thank you very much, all of you who have been reading and reviewing this story! I'm glad you enjoyed these little Hummel vignettes.

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"Dad, stop fidgeting! You look great," Kurt scolded, slapping his father's fingers away from his cranberry-red silk tie. "You've got everything ready for later, right?"

"I got it," he said, reaching for his throat to fidget with the knot again and then stuffing his hands in his pockets with a sigh when Kurt's heated glare nearly gave him a sunburn. "You sure all this isn't overkill, though? I mean, all the suspense just might kill me!"

Kurt rolled his eyes and glanced at Finn for support.

The taller boy smiled and shook his head. "I think Kurt called it building the moment, and he's right, y'know. Girls are all about romantic stuff. Even old ones, like Mom. There's no way she'll be able to resist you if you go with the full show."

Burt chuckled nervously. "Why do you guys both think I don't know anything about romance? I managed to get Kurt's mom to marry me, didn't I? And I made it this far without any help from you two."

"Oh, _please_," Kurt scoffed. "You were a junior-college football star when you met Mom. And I seem to recall that you had never even tried to start a conversation with Carole, even though you had seen her at parent-teacher nights a dozen times and thought that she was pretty. Not until I decided to introduce you. Not to mention the makeover and shopping trips and all that good advice I gave you on how to impress her!"

"He did kind of help," Finn agreed, earning himself a beaming smile from Kurt and a sour look from Burt. "Besides, you're the one who asked us to help you set up the perfect romantic evening tonight. I think Kurt did a pretty good job putting everything together on such short notice. Mom is gonna love it, and she'll definitely say yes. Heck, _I'd _marry somebody if they did all this for me!"

Kurt threw up his hands and quipped, "Now he tells me!"

All three of them laughed, the two teens shoving each other playfully. They had come a long way since the days of Kurt's unrequited crush and Finn's near-panic attacks every time they were anywhere close to each other. True friendship had managed to develop between the two boys and pulled them past all of the discomfort and misunderstandings, and now they were united in a common cause.

Suddenly, Kurt gasped. "I hear her car! Quick, everybody in the kitchen!"

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Carole Hudson sighed softly, stretching her back as she retrieved her purse and shut the car door. Work had been a bear today. So much time and effort for what felt like almost no result at all, and a manager who simply did not appreciate how much work everyone was putting in. Odd hours, short staff, inventory reductions; sometimes she felt as if just one more thing going wrong would cause her to start screaming like a banshee and get her carted away in a straight-jacket.

She looked at the house, dark and quiet. Things had not been quite as perfect here as they could be either, lately. Looking after two busy and active teenagers was twice the work of taking care of one, and lately Burt seemed stuck in his own world, barely noticing how stressed she was. He was worried about the garage, which hadn't been taking in as many customers lately, and about Kurt, whose now-open interest in boys was driving him quietly crazy.

Plus, it was football season. God forbid her problems get in the way of that!

Another, deeper sigh escaped as she hitched the purse higher on her shoulder and trudged up the front steps. Feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to help anything and she needed to get busy fixing dinner for her three hungry men.

As she closed the front door and put her keys down on the hall table, a strange light caught Carole's attention. What could it be? She frowned, setting her purse down and walking into the living room to investigate. A soft, "Oh!" escaped her lips. The usual darkness was pushed back by soft candlelight, every table and flat surface in the room covered with votives in pretty little glass holders in every color of the rainbow, each one giving off a gently flickering glow.

On the floor, carefully spread to form an arrow pointing toward the stairs, lay rose petals.

More petals decorated each step, leading the amazed woman up to the master bathroom. Candles lit this room too, and she gasped at finding the bathtub full to the brim with a steaming hot bubble-bath. On the back of the door hung a lovely blue silk nightgown, modest yet sexy, and a matching pemoire with a little note attached. It was typed, so as not to give away the identity of the writer. 'Take your time and relax. Dinner will be waiting.'

Beyond surprised, she took a closer look at the tub, noticing that a small table had been moved up next to it, holding a glass of wine, a small plate of chocolates, the book that had formerly been on her nightstand and a small CD player that she knew belonged to Finn. Another little note decorated the player, pointing to the buttons. It simply said, 'Push.

Closing the bathroom door, she got undressed and climbed into the bath before obeying the note. The familiar soothing voice of Frank Sinatra began to play, crooning softly as she sighed in contentment at the deliciously hot water, settling back to enjoy the scented bubbles. Taking a small sip of wine, she picked up her book and relaxed.

Half an hour later, a slightly self-conscious Carole went back downstairs dressed in her new lingerie.

Her eyes widened at the sight before her. The votive candles had disappeared, the sofa had been pushed back and the usual coffee table was nowhere in sight, replaced with what she suspected was the square fold-up card table from the garage. It had been covered with a nice tablecloth and decorated with a bowl of flowers flanked by two tall flickering taper candles. Two place settings had been arranged, complete with more wine in cut-crystal goblets and plates covered by warming lids that Carole did not recognize.

She ventured closer, following a delicious odor. A small sound of appreciation escaped her lips when she lifted one warming lid and found a delicate slice of prime rib, a scoop of garlic mashed potatoes adorned with a small drizzle of gravy and a serving of steamed asparagus. Next to each plate was a half-cup metal serving bowl filled with pink and white ice cream – the strawberry cheesecake variety that she and Kurt both adored.

"Oh, it's beautiful," she breathed, looking up as music began to play throughout the house. Turning, she beheld Burt Hummel standing in the doorway wearing a dark blue suit and a red tie, smiling as he held out a long stemmed crimson rose. The scene was impeccable and so romantic. "Burt? I can't believe you did all this!"

"I wish I had," he said, smiling into her eyes as he came closer and slid his arms around her body, swaying in a silent invitation to dance that she just as mutely accepted. He kissed her lips softly. "I had a little help."

Carole smiled, "Kurt?"

"Yeah, and Finn too." A warm chuckle escaped Burt's lips. "I mentioned yesterday that I wanted to do something for you and Kurt practically broke his neck leaping at the chance to plan it all out for us."

"He's such a sweetheart," she said affectionately, sniffing the beautiful fragrance from her rose.

Burt looked into her eyes, completely serious. "I've been taking you for granted, honey, and I should know better. You've been putting up with a lot of crap lately and I should have made sure you knew how much I appreciate you, and how much I love you."

Carole's heart felt as if it could swell to bursting as tears welled up in her eyes. "I love you, too. So much."

She looked around the beautiful setting again, incredibly moved to know that the boys had helped set this up for her. Their combined family had had some adjustments to make over the last year, and not all of it had gone smoothly, but the very idea that their sons loved her and Burt enough to do something like this for them touched her deeply. "Where are they tonight?"

Burt laughed. "Kurt and Finn are going bowling with Mercedes and Rachel, then they're all heading to a late movie. We've got the place all to ourselves tonight."

She laughed, too. "Kurt actually agreed to go bowling?"

"Oh, don't let that fussy act of his fool you," the proud father advised. "Kid's got a higher average than I do! I think the other kids may be in for a little surprise tonight."

She snuggled deeper into Burt's arms, closing her eyes. They were not dancing so much as just swaying in time to the melodic strains of 1940's standards that filled the air. "We'll have to do something extra nice to thank them both."

"I'm sure they'll be glad to let us," Burt chuckled. "Now, that's enough talk about the kids. Tonight is supposed to be about you and me. What do you say we have some dinner, and drink some wine and then see where things take us? Later on I, uh, I kind of have something I've been wanting to ask you."

Carole reached up, encircling his neck with both arms as she pulled his lips down to meet her own. Looking into his eyes, she felt a flutter of excitement fill her. "Please don't wait," she whispered, hoping she wasn't presuming too much. "Ask me right now."

Burt's hand slipped into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. "Carole Hudson, over the last eighteen months, you've brought laughter and joy and love back into my life. You've made me happier than I ever thought I could be again. You've let my boy know how it feels to have a mother again, and you and Finn have made our family complete. Now I'd really like to make it permanent." He opened the box, revealing a beautiful diamond ring. "I can't promise that our life together will always be perfect, Carole, but I can promise that I will love you with everything I've got for just as long as you'll let me. Will you marry me?"

She had started to cry halfway through the speech and now she could barely get the words past the joyful lump in her throat. "Yes. Oh, Burt, of course I'll marry you!"

They were both laughing and crying as he slipped the ring over her finger and they hugged each other tight.

The couple was so caught up in their private moment, that they never even noticed the happy sniffles from the entryway behind them, or the two smiling teenagers who carefully opened the front door and slipped away stealthily into the night.

THE END


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